


I have to run; I'll find you when it's safe

by crushing83



Series: Bullets and Blades [11]
Category: Fast & Furious (Movies), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard is reincarnated, Bard lives many lives, Crossover, M/M, Modern AU, Owen having strange dreams, Reincarnation, Reincarnation AU, Thranduil considering a life of crime, a member of Owen's team is an elf, bad things happen to elves, happens a few years before Fast & Furious 6, playing it fast and loose with Tolkien's mythology, poor use of elvish, pre-Furious 6, somehow Thranduil finds him every time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28925379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: Joining Owen's team did not go unnoticed. Thranduil has to make a difficult decision when he's caught in a potentially dangerous situation.
Relationships: Bard of Laketown/Thranduil, Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Owen Shaw/Thranduil, Past Bard of Laketown/Thranduil
Series: Bullets and Blades [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/253471
Comments: 48
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a loooong time since I've written this series. I've re-read it all, lamented the errors (and bad writing), and am trying to keep it all in mind (and to decipher all the notes I'd made for future stories/plans). Please be kind if I've missed something huge. Feel free to point it out, just… be kind. I can't promise that I'll return to this full time, but I would like to finish it, eventually. (I've started plotting out the next story. I just don't know when I'll be able to work on it. So, it's not completely abandoned. Just sloooow.)

After taking a moment to recover from the shock of the news in the privacy of his apartment, Thranduil pulled out his phone and dialed Owen's phone number. 

Owen answered after one ring.  _ "Thran?"  _

His voice was quiet, soft, and full of the tenderness Owen had learned to show (or to uncover) over the time they'd been together. Thranduil almost smiled and almost got lost in the voice, but then he remembered why he was calling Owen and his worry pushed through his warmer feelings. 

"Owen! Did I wake you? I know the time difference, but—" he broke off, and thought about his situation. Owen couldn't help; he was on the other side of the world. "I, oh, this is ridiculous," he said. He tucked his hair behind his ear with his free hand. "Go back to sleep." 

Quietly, Owen said,  _ "I wasn't sleeping. Talk to me." _

Thranduil wasn't sure where to begin—or how to begin. He'd gone to his secret home, to ensure its safety and to check on his supplies. Owen didn't know about that hideaway and he couldn't if their relationship soured; it was the one place he (and Tauriel, since she, too, knew of its existence) could hide. Thranduil had kept a house on that property for longer than Owen had been alive—longer, really—and he needed that place as a safe haven more than ever since he discovered his kin were targets of experiments and torture. 

He decided to keep the description of his actions vague—and hope that Owen wouldn't ask about any of it. That was the only way he could accurately and honestly explain what had happened when he returned. Owen needed that information if he were to plan any sort of investigation. 

"I took a few days to myself. I… I caught up on some personal, pre-Kendall matters before returning to my flat. Nothing that anyone could tie to me," he said. "When I went to the bar to get my mail… I am sure it is nothing, but the bartender mentioned someone stopping by to see if they knew me. Or Kendall. That was the name they asked after. I… do not like it. Is it all right if I stay at your place until you return?" 

_ "Absolutely, yes. There's enough food still in the freezer, so just… get there and stay there," _ Owen replied. 

Thranduil exhaled slowly. Hearing Owen's response calmed him, assured him that he had a place to hide while he regrouped and figured out what his next move should be. 

"You… are sure?" 

_ "Yes, love. I want you to text me when you get there,"  _ Owen said, his voice still quiet and warm.  _ "With something I'd recognise as coming from only you. Just in case—just to put my mind at ease. Or call, if you'd like." _

Thranduil smiled and ducked his head down. He liked Owen's plan. It made sense, and it helped him to know that Owen was supporting and assisting him. 

"I… all right," he murmured. 

_ "We'll get to the bottom of this as soon as I'm home,"  _ Owen added.  _ "I want you to look out for yourself and be safe. Do whatever's necessary, all right?"  _

"Please don't rush—" 

_ "I'll do what I want, elf,"  _ Owen said, his voice rougher and tightening everything in Thranduil's gut with its tone.  _ "You take care of you, I'll take care of things here. And I'll see you soon." _

"Owen, I know I'm a little… uneasy, but there's no reason to suspect—" 

_ "Thran."  _

Thranduil waved his free hand around as he paced. "I'm overdramatic, and—" 

_ "Thran, would you listen to me?"  _

He stopped moving when Owen's question registered in his mind. "I'm listening," he said. 

_ "Good. Now, hear this," _ Owen said.  _ "You are going to be fine. You are a smart man, because you realise that this could be bad, but you are skilled, too, and you are going to slip out of your flat and get to my safehouse. Our safehouse." _

"You sound sure." 

_ "I am always sure about you. You are my elf king. You are not going to be paralysed by fear of the unknown. You are going to fight. Even if fighting means slipping out with your valuables and making your way to our safehouse."  _

With every word Owen spoke, Thranduil felt his nerves lessen and his resolve strengthen. Owen was right. Thranduil had faced enemies—armies of enemies, in fact—who were scarier than spies and soldiers in the modern age. He'd seen things no one apart from the few remaining elves could even imagine. He knew all the routes to the safehouse; he knew what would be abnormal on each route and he could get there undetected. Owen was right. 

"Thank you," Thranduil whispered. 

_ "You good?"  _

"I believe so, yes," he replied. "I love that you know how to stiffen my spine." 

_ "I know how to stiffen other things of yours, too,"  _ Owen teased. 

Thranduil chuckled. "Yes, you do," he agreed. "And perhaps I will see another shining example of that when you return home." 

_ "That's pretty much a guarantee." _

Imagining what that promise might entail, Thranduil felt warmth along his spine. He hummed and shuddered as it washed over him.

_ "So, what's the plan, love?" _ Owen asked. 

"Grab a few things I can't live without and make my way to your place. I'll take my car," he said. "And when I get there, I'll contact you." 

_ "Good." _

"And what's your plan?" Thranduil asked. 

Owen chuckled into his ear.  _ "I'm going to get back to work. When Vegh's up, I'm going to tell her what you told me, and we're going to see if we can't wrap this up quickly so I can return to you." _

Something about the way Owen's voice roughened made Thranduil's pulse quicken. There was more than one promise in those words and Thranduil was looking forward to all of them. 

"Don't rush and wreck the mission," Thranduil whispered. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Seriously, Owen. I understand how important it is for you to have someone with ties to…  _ them." _

When he heard Owen chuckle again, Thranduil closed his eyes. The sound vibrated through him. He shivered as he remembered how it felt to have Owen—or Bard, or any of Bard's reincarnations—laughing that low laugh against him. 

_ "I'll do what I want, elf,"  _ Owen murmured. 

Thranduil smiled. "I know. You always do," he replied. 

_ "Be careful, Thran," _ Owen said, his voice turning serious.  _ "I expect to hear from you when you've settled at the loft. In a few hours—at the latest." _

"I promise to call when I've arrived," Thranduil said. "You be careful, too, Owen." 

_ "I'm always careful."  _

Thranduil snorted. "Yes, yes, you are," he said, his voice a little softer. "Thank you. I'll… I'll talk to you soon." 

_ "You better."  _

After ending the call, Thranduil pocketed his phone and looked around his apartment. There were possessions and memories he needed to secure; there were things he needed to pack. He'd started living through different lifetimes in a way that allowed him to leave at a moment's notice if it were absolutely necessary. However, over the (centuries and) decades, he'd become complacent, used to making time to pack and plan. He had too many belongings and too many secrets in his living space. 

Clothes and weapons were the easiest to pack. The former went into his military-style duffle; the latter went into two bags he'd adjusted for the sole purpose of storing blades, bows, and arrows. He loathed leaving some of his clothes behind, but he knew if it were safe he could return for the remaining garments. Clothing wasn't what he needed to keep out of the clutches of anyone curious about his existence. 

His notebooks and hard drives went into a weather- and heat-safe box—the combination the year of Bard's death—and his important trinkets went into another similar box with what remained of his stash of dried  _ athelas. _ He checked the second lock—with its combination the year of Legolas' birth—and when he was satisfied that it still worked, too, he moved both boxes to rest next to the oversized, overstuffed bags by his door. 

A last look around the space he'd made for his current life reminded him to pack his laptop into the bag he'd been carrying when he entered the apartment. 

Thranduil knew it had taken too long. He would need to improve on his technique—run drills, send things to his safe house in the country, and figure out a way to compress his data to shave minutes off of his time—but he couldn't do that until he was sure his location was safe. 

For the time being, he had to get himself and his most important possessions to Owen's loft. 

&&&

When he stepped off of the elevator and into the living space, Thranduil let out a long, low sigh. With Owen's influence, he'd grown to find driving a relaxing experience, but there had been nothing relaxing about the drive from his apartment to the warehouse. He'd been on full alert the entire time, taking the longest route to ensure he wasn't being followed before ducking into the path Owen taught him would be free of cameras so he could disappear into the industrial district and through the garage door. 

Thranduil wanted a vacation. He wanted Owen to take him somewhere warm and isolated, where they could breathe without worrying about anyone catching them and without a mission to plan and execute. 

After Madrid, they'd only had a few days before Owen felt it was important to make contact with Riley Hicks. Thranduil and Vegh had accompanied him to Beijing to stage the chance encounter and after some success—meaning that Riley appeared amenable to spending more time with Owen if he were able to meet her when she moved on to Tokyo in a few weeks—Owen turned his attention to a small job for one of Deckard's clients. Klaus arrived to provide back-up and protection. Oakes and Adolfson, who had been searching the list of abandoned military bases in the team's downtime, joined them in Singapore for the heist. When it was all over, they went their separate ways again. Owen, Vegh, and Klaus went to Tokyo, while Oakes and Adolfson went back to their work in Russia. They'd left Ivory keeping watch over communications from wherever he did that work best. Thranduil, at Owen's insistence, went home. 

He'd spent the entire trip away from Owen thinking about all the ways he'd re-stake his claim on his lover. Worrying about being discovered had not been on his list of things he'd like to do upon returning. 

With his elven belongings and memories still in the trunk of his car and his weapons and clothing at his feet, Thranduil sighed again and moved further into the room. He had plenty of time to unpack; Owen wouldn't be back for at least another day. 

There was no fresh fruit in the kitchen, nor had he expected there to be, so Thranduil made do with a bottle of wine. He knew there were prepared meals in Owen's freezer, but he wasn't hungry enough to heat one of those dishes. Wine would settle his nerves and his stomach. 

As soon as he was comfortable, sprawled out on the bed, Thranduil pulled his phone from his front pocket and dialed Owen's current number. 

_ "Safe and sound?" _ Owen asked. 

Thranduil smirked. "And stretched out on your bed, enjoying a bottle of your wine." 

_ "Well, you're painting quite a picture," _ Owen drawled.  _ "White or red?" _

"Red, obviously," Thranduil replied. 

Owen's laugh was a beautiful sound in his ear.  _ "I wish I were there," _ he murmured.  _ "Soon, though. Hicks is being dispatched to another embassy to conduct a security review tomorrow."  _

"How did it go?" Thranduil asked. 

_ "I think she'll be… agreeable. She knows I'm not just another pretty face, she seems interested in the freedom I'm offering her—"  _

"Freedom?" 

_ "Yeah. I am flirting with her, but I'm playing an angle about getting out from under superiors and making my own decisions, building my own business with my skills," _ Owen replied.  _ "She's interested. She's being pulled in two different directions, you know? Feels like the right way to play it."  _

Thranduil sipped his wine before speaking. "I trust your instincts," he said. "Sounds like you know how to appeal to her ambition." 

_ "Better her ambition than her heart," _ Owen said. _ "But, she thinks I'm attractive, so—"  _

"You are very attractive," Thranduil interrupted, smirking. 

Owen chuckled.  _ "I am thrilled you think so, love," _ he murmured in Thranduil's ear. 

"So, what are your plans?" 

After a sigh, Owen replied,  _ "Gonna pack up and head out. Sending Klaus to Ivory, to look at our options for what's next. Thinking about hiring another driver, or a bit more muscle, at least, so I'm having them check backgrounds, too. Vegh asked for some time away for a personal task. Adolfson and Oakes are going to check out another abandoned facility." _

"And me?" Thranduil asked. 

_ "You… well. As soon as I get home, I expect you won't be leaving that bed until I'm done with you," _ Owen said.  _ "We've been apart for too long, Thran. I have a lot of catching up to do and you're going to help me do it." _

With a little laugh and a luxurious stretch of his legs, Thranduil said, "I suppose. If I must." 

Owen continued talking.  _ "If you want to invite Tauriel to come and visit, you can," _ he said.  _ "It's gonna take me a day to get to you, and keep in mind we need to have our reunion, but I know you're shaken, so if Tauriel can get to you or if you want to—"  _

"Could Vegh come?" Thranduil asked. 

_ "She's on leave right now, but I'm not opposed to it if she's free," _ Owen replied.  _ "You have her number. Send her a text when you know Tauriel can come. They're friends, right?" _

"Yes," Thranduil said, deciding that was the definition of their relationship that made the most sense. "Vegh said she hasn't seen Tauriel in a while, but… yes." 

_ "Are you going to tell Tauriel about your daughter?" _ Owen asked. 

After releasing a long, low sigh, Thranduil said, "It must be done." 

He smiled to himself as Owen told him he was supported and loved, feeling warmth from Owen's affections blossoming in his chest. The stress of his return faded in the face of that internal heat. 

When they ended their call, with promises from Owen to text Thranduil with his travel itinerary and with promises from Thranduil to be as cautious as possible, Thranduil leaned back against the pillows and thought about his next move. 

As much as he wanted to relax, he knew he had to reach out to Tauriel and Vegh before doing anything else. He sent a text to Tauriel— _ Had some problems with my flat. Moved into Bard's place. Would like to talk with you to discuss pests and other matters. _ —being as clear as he could be without tipping off anyone else if they were eavesdropping or caught a glimpse of the message in some other way. His text to Vegh— _ Am asking an old friend to visit, to catch up. Would you be available to join us at some point? _ —held less detail, but he knew Vegh had ways of getting into contact with him where they could speak plainly. 

His next task to tackle was unpacking. Thranduil wasn't sure if he wanted to find places for his belongings. He and Owen had flirted with the idea of moving in together, but Thranduil had hoped it would be out of desire and not necessity that he was moving into Owen's secret lair. The act of mixing their things wasn't as exciting or romantic as he'd hoped it would be. Even though he knew he was welcome there, he felt as if he would be intruding. 

But, he couldn't live out of his bags and trunk forever. 

And he needed to find safe places for his treasures and memories. 

With that thought, Thranduil eased himself off of the bed. He took his bags of weapons and clothing from where he dropped them. He knew Owen had safes installed everywhere, the obvious ones in the garage near the surveillance equipment, but he didn't like the thought of his treasures locked up with Owen's weaponry; since they were mostly in locked boxes already, Thranduil knew it would be better to keep them tucked away in the trunk of his car for the time being. If he were living there, for a while, he knew he would want them within easy reach; the decision of a safe location could be made at a later date. The boxes remaining in the trunk meant they could be easily moved if he had to leave Owen or if he had to evade capture. 

His weapons were easiest to store—in the closet where Owen kept some gear, just in case, and under the bed on Thranduil's preferred side, again, just in case—and then he went to the closet with the bag of his clothes. 

Before he could even open his bag, his phone began to ring. He answered it on the third ring, only after he checked the display and recognised the number as one of the numbers that Vegh had in her possession. 

"Hello?" 

_ "Hello, Kendall,"  _ Vegh said, a teasing tone in her voice when she spoke his name.  _ "I thought I would call on a secure line and ask why you want me to visit. Did something happen?" _

Thranduil huffed, a sound somewhere between good humour and annoyance, and cradled his phone to one his head with one hand while his other hand opened his bag. 

"Something like that," Thranduil muttered as he pulled his clothes out of his bag and began the process of sorting them. "I arrived in town with little fanfare, but when I went to pick up my mail, the bartender downstairs said someone came by looking for me. For Kendall." 

_ "It wasn't someone you know?" _ Vegh asked. 

"I doubt it," Thranduil said. "The description wasn't Deckard or anyone on the team, from what I could tell." 

Vegh sighed.  _ "That's not good." _

"No, it is not," Thranduil agreed. "I told Owen. He gave me a safe place to rest." 

_ "Good. I doubt you have a surveillance team on you, but it would be better if you are not there when they come back," _ Vegh said.  _ "It could be just because you work for Shaw. But… it could also be…"  _

"Because someone noticed I am not human?" Thranduil suggested.

_ "Something like that," _ Vegh said.  _ "Without knowing for sure, it's hard to guess the reason. It's best that you remain safe and hidden—at least until Shaw returns to you."  _

Thranduil took his phone from his ear and turned it onto its speaker function. "Yes, that is my plan for now," he said. He picked up a pair of leggings and folded them properly. "How is your time away from the team?" 

Vegh chuckled.  _ "Fine. I am meeting with Tulcadhiel tomorrow,"  _ she replied.  _ "She says she has met some others like us and wishes to share what she can."  _

"Interesting," Thranduil said before selecting a shirt from his pile and folding that, too. "I wonder who else has lasted this long." 

"And from where they came," Vegh added. 

"Yes, I am also curious about that," Thranduil agreed. "I understand if the information is to be shared in confidence, but—"

_ "I'll tell you what I can as soon as I can,"  _ Vegh assured him.  _ "When is your captain coming to visit?"  _

"I do not yet know," Thranduil said between folding another shirt and another pair of leggings. "I texted, but I have not heard from her." 

"Shaw wants you to have back-up?"

As Thranduil took a pair of button-up shirts to Owen's closet, he said, "I think he just wants me to feel better. I suspect he wants to ask about the blood sample we took to her, and I need to tell her about Bellasiel, too. A 'many birds, one stone' situation." 

_ "Ah. Yes." _

Thranduil frowned as Vegh remained mostly silent for a minute. He put the shirts on free hangers, tucking them along the far side of the storage space, where there was room, and he returned to the bed to pick up more clothes to fold. 

_ "You know, she's going to understand," _ Vegh said. 

"Do I know that?" Thranduil said in reply. "I took her in, I taught her, I promoted her to your successor when she was ready, I loved her as much as I could at the time which wasn't very much but I still tried, in my own damaged way… and all the while I lied to her." 

_ "I think, by now, she understands your reactions to grief," _ Vegh said. 

Thranduil snorted. "You mean, how cold and uncaring—" 

_ "You experienced more grief than—" _

"We all lost loved ones," Thranduil protested. 

Vegh sighed.  _ "Yes, but you are our king. You lost all of us by the end." _

Thranduil frowned. He had not thought about his pain in that way, a long and slow process of losing everyone in his heart. After losing Bard to time and Legolas to the sea, his pain had driven him to isolation, but before that it had built a shell around him. He'd seen himself through his subjects' eyes as untouchable by others; he'd never considered that others realised how much he'd still cared even as he tried to distance and protect himself. 

"It is not a contest," Thranduil muttered. He moved some of his folded clothes into the shelf in the closet, next to Owen's sweaters, and he did his best to push his sadness, both from his memories and from the present, away from the front of his mind. "Besides, I have some of you back now." 

Vegh's voice was warmer when she next spoke.  _ "Yes, you do," _ she murmured.  _ "And with luck and skill, we will find more of our kind." _

"Has there been any word from—" 

_ "No, not yet," _ Vegh interrupted.  _ "I suspect we'll have something soon, though. They've only got two sites left, from what Klaus told me." _

"Good… good. Perhaps they will find something of use to our mission…" 

_ "That's the plan," _ Vegh said. 

Moving back to the bed for more clothing, Thranduil hummed in agreement. The last of the items—stockings, socks, and underwear—were scooped up and unceremoniously dumped on a shelf in Owen's closet. When he was finished, he tucked the bag into the closet, too. 

A thought occurred to him as he straightened. By the time he was sitting on the bed, it had bloomed into questions for which he needed answers. 

"Vegh, why do you suspect they are after us?" he asked. 

_ "Science. Furthering their abilities through any means,"  _ Vegh replied. 

"That… is what I suspected." 

Vegh asked,  _ "Past tense?" _

"I do not know," Thranduil admitted. "But, I suspect we do not know everything. Not yet. Why do they pursue us still, if they have samples and studies and captives? Surely we aren't a threat if we don't even know where their work is being conducted." 

_ "They believe we are enemies, then," _ Vegh supplied. 

"What? One hundred scattered souls against millions? Against whole armies? Against nuclear weapons?" Thranduil asked. 

Vegh remained silent for a minute, as if she were considering Thranduil's doubts. When she spoke again, she sounded more like his closest guard than she'd ever done since they met again in the modern world. 

_ "I will ask Tulcadhiel for more information about her conversations with the rescued elves," _ Vegh said in a tone that was part heat and part ice and all business.  _ "If they'd ever indicated more, if there were signs of deeper intention. I will also look through my journals to see if there are any patterns over the long years." _

"I could be wrong," Thranduil said.

_ "We have witnessed atrocities in this world, particularly in the last centuries," _ Vegh reminded him.  _ "There had been peace—true peace—in the beginning of the Age of Men. But we who have remained have seen a long, slow de-evolution of that peace. It could be coincidence, the fate of men, but it could also be… something else. We remember the stories. The prophecies." _

Thranduil sighed and nodded. "I was afraid you might draw that conclusion, too," he said. 

_ "Let me speak with Tulcadhiel," _ Vegh said, her voice softening slightly.  _ "You speak with Tauriel. We will gather information and see if there could be a pattern brewing. Perhaps the three of us can put our heads together if there is time before the next job."  _

"I will check my records," Thranduil offered. "I cannot get to my older notebooks, but I've had time to transcribe everything into basic digital text files, so I will start there." 

_ "It is all we can do for now,"  _ Vegh said. 

"Yes," he agreed. "Should I tell you if and when I'll have company?" 

Vegh spoke quickly, without hesitation.  _ "Yes, please," _ she said.  _ "I'll be in touch, either way." _

As soon as they ended their call, Thranduil tossed his phone down onto the mattress and followed the device. He buried his face in Owen's pillow, inhaling the scent of the man deep into his body. It calmed him more than Vegh's plan of action and hard, certain tone of voice could calm him; it reminded him of his cause, of the love he aimed to protect, and it soothed the jangling along his nerves that started when he'd learned someone had come to the pub beneath his apartment in an attempt to find him. 

He did not like to think there could be more at play, under the surface or inside the minds of those who hunted his kind; but, since the idea had sparked to life in his thoughts, he could not easily dismiss it. To be cruel and curious in equal measures was certainly possible of Man. After so much time, though, Thranduil had a hard time believing that they only had one motivation. The elves were too small a group. They were formidable opponents, but not in their low numbers or against the monstrous armies and weapons many countries had at their disposal in the present day. It did not make sense to Thranduil that organisations would pursue them to the extent that they'd done to date purely for scientific research. 

When his phone rang again, Thranduil groaned and pulled himself from his thoughts. He fumbled for the device until he saw Tauriel's number flashing across his screen. Then, he moved much more quickly and smoothly in sitting up and putting the phone to his ear. 

"Are you—" 

_ "I'm fine," _ Tauriel murmured. _ "I just saw your message. You're back in town for a while?"  _

"Seems like it," Thranduil replied. "I don't know if I'll be moving again, with the recent developments, but for now, I'm staying with my boyfriend." 

Tauriel sighed.  _ "You will have to tell me about that, in proper detail,"  _ she said. 

With a frown, Thranduil said, "I have other things to tell you, too." 

_ "Good. I have some news about that bloodwork I had done,"  _ she said,  _ "and I'd like to tell you about it in person."  _

"Good. Text me when you're in town, and I'll tell you how to get here," Thranduil said. 

Tauriel hummed.  _ "Yes. That works. I'll be there in a couple days or a week at the most. I hope your boyfriend's wine cellar is stocked." _

Chuckling at the image of Owen returning and discovering Thranduil and Tauriel surrounded by empty bottles of wine, Thranduil said, "I'm sure he's got enough here for the both of us. I hope, anyway. He seems like the sort to have a stockpile." 

_ "I look forward to putting a dent in it," _ Tauriel said with a teasing tone creeping into her voice.  _ "Stay safe, Thranduil. I'll see you soon."  _

"And you stay safe, as well," Thranduil replied, ending the call. 

While they had plenty of serious subjects to discuss, they preferred to do their talking face-to-face, so Thranduil could push aside the worry pertaining to Tauriel's reactions to learning more of what Thranduil had kept secret from her and focus on the pleasant idea of having one of his kin back in his reach, in his (emergency) home. 

He placed his phone back onto the bed and stretched out against Owen's bedclothes. He exhaled slowly and listened to the air around him. Apart from the hum of electronics, it was still and silent. No one else was with him. He was safe. 

With that last thought at the front of his mind, Thranduil drifted into a light sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

Thranduil opened his eyes and looked around the minimalist space of Owen's hideaway. Glimpses of his dream mixed with the sight of his surroundings; Imladris' archways blended almost seamlessly with the bare lines of the loft. When he caught sight of Owen's bags and heard the shower running, Thranduil groaned and rubbed at his forehead until reality triumphed and the dream's images faded from his sight. 

In his dream, he and Elrond had been having an argument. One they'd never had before. It started out about their friendship (a conversation long overdue, Thranduil thought) and how it had been damaged by grief, pain, and years of silence, but it transformed into a fight about so many issues on which they'd never seen eye-to-eye. It encompassed their wives, their children, and their choices; it ended on the latest matter facing the remaining elves, the hunts and the experiments. 

Elrond had been furious with him, uncharacteristically uncontrolled as he shared all of his frustrations and fears. He'd even gone as far as grabbing Thranduil by his robes and shaking him. When Thranduil pushed him back, Elrond shouted that Thranduil was their last hope to get to safety, away from the touch of Morgoth and back to the Valar. Elrond all but ordered Thranduil to round up the stray elves for the journey. After taking offence at being called a stray, Thranduil told him that he  _ couldn't _ leave—he couldn't leave the earth, he couldn't leave Bard, and he definitely couldn't leave the prisoners who were still their responsibility. Elrond smiled, sadly, when Thranduil insisted that he must have a purpose on Arda that was keeping him from feeling the pull of the sea and of Aman, wherever it was actually located. He'd told Thranduil that the only reason he didn't feel that pull was because he'd never done what he was told to do, that there was no magic except for the dark magic threatening the rest of the world's population. 

Elrond's words lingered in Thranduil's ears as he pushed himself into a sitting position and pushed his hair back out of his face. 

Was he stubborn? Probably. Definitely, if he were being honest. But, he'd seen his subjects feel the call of Valinor and he'd  _ never _ felt anything approximating the reactions they'd displayed—not even after Bard died from old age and wear and tear. It couldn't be just stubbornness. 

Galadriel had been so sure they'd fade into nothingness, or into death, to be reabsorbed by the earth. But, they hadn't. There were many elves—not as many as there had once been, but still a considerable number—and no one had faded out of existence. They were still alive. They still lived and breathed; they still communed with nature and did their best to survive. 

Surely that had to count for something, as if there were a plan the Valar (or Eru Ilúvatar, perhaps) had put into motion. 

Or, perhaps, they had abandoned their creations and without their magic they were gifted with whatever strength they'd amassed in their lives before the Age of Men. 

Or… they could be sustained by magic of a different, darker sort. 

Thranduil did not like to think about that option. 

Owen's voice, carrying a ballad of some sort, reached his ears and penetrated his thoughts. The tone of the song was sad, but it still made Thranduil smile. With a desire to be closer to the source of that voice, Thranduil eased off of the bed and moved across the room, into the bathroom, looking forward to seeing the love of his (current) life. 

Once he was in the bathroom, Thranduil hopped onto the countertop. He leaned against the wall and drew up his legs, focusing his gaze on the shower and on the man underneath the stream of water and behind the glass doors. 

Owen did not know he was being watched, as far as Thranduil could tell. He enjoyed the moment and took in all he could. Letting his gaze expand and deepen, Thranduil watched the rivulets of water in detail as they trickled along the skin he loved to stroke. He lost himself in the sights and sounds and smells and memories (and plans). 

When Owen turned off the water and reached for a towel, he smiled at Thranduil, who smiled back. Owen wrapped his fluffy green towel around his hips; he emerged from the stall, still smiling, and walked to Thranduil's perch. 

"Did you enjoy the show, love?" Owen asked. 

"Mmm, yes, I did," Thranduil murmured. He smiled more when Owen bent enough to kiss Thranduil's knee. Through his leggings, he could feel Owen's stubble and the heat of his skin. "Why didn't you wake me to welcome you properly?" 

"I tried to," Owen said. He stole a quick kiss from Thranduil's lips. "But, you seemed to be very cross with someone named Elrond." 

Thranduil snorted. "I was dreaming about having an argument with him," he admitted. "I did not know I talk in my sleep." 

"He's a real person?" Owen asked. 

Reaching out and taking Owen's hand in his, Thranduil said, "Yes, he is. And he is a very frustrating person." 

"Have I ever met him?" Owen asked. 

Thranduil hesitated. A memory struck him and hurt his heart. He'd foolishly begged Elrond to come to his home, to heal Bard. Elrond had sent a thrush, reminding Thranduil that old age had no cure that did not come with extreme consequences. They'd met through letters and messages, of course, as they were leaders of their own communities, but they only met face to face in the last few of Bard's days, when Elrond came to Mirkwood to support Thranduil in the face of his loss. 

"He hasn't been around lately," Thranduil managed to say, struggling to think past the memories of Bard's end. He shrugged and squeezed Owen's hand. "I haven't seen him since we were very, very young." 

"Childhood friend?" Owen asked. 

With a nod, Thranduil said, "Yes… we… spent a few years together, growing up." 

That was as close to the truth as Thranduil could get without discussing his and his father's escape from Menegroth and subsequent regrouping in Ossiriand, before the seas rose and buried the blood and death beneath its waves. He remembered the day Elrond arrived, all youthful light and innocence, seemingly despite any sorrow or pain in his life, and the way they'd slowly become friends; everything had changed when Oropher set his sights on power and worked at molding Thranduil into the proper heir his brother had been meant to be, but for a few years, they'd been almost close. 

Thinking about meeting Elrond in his youth brought his mind to thoughts of fleeing Menegroth and then to memories of living there, within the protected territory. He wondered if the remains of Thingol's castle were still somewhere, under the ocean, or if the water had erased all traces of its elegant beauty. 

"So. Elrond. What's wrong with him now?" Owen asked, as if Elrond had really been there, really fighting with Thranduil. 

"He thought I should gather the others like me and leave for a secret location," Thranduil said. When Owen frowned, he leaned forward and kissed Owen's forehead. "It was only a dream. There's no secret hiding place." 

Owen sighed and leaned into Thranduil's body as he unfolded it. "If there is ever somewhere you can go to be safer…" 

"I could never go without you," Thranduil replied. "Our time is not yet over." 

Something in his words seemed to satisfy or please Owen, because he smiled and kissed him again. Thranduil parted his legs and made room for Owen to close the gap between them; Owen moved without hesitation. 

"How did everything with Hicks go?" Thranduil asked. 

Owen snorted as he let his hands travel along Thranduil's waist. They shared a few more kisses before Owen gave him any sort of verbal response. 

"I loathe this sort of work," Owen admitted. "I'll be glad when it is over." 

"Me, too," Thranduil agreed. He put his hands on Owen's chest; he savoured the warmth under his fingers. "You're here now. How can I help?" 

"This is perfect," Owen said. He smiled. "Let's have some fun, eat some good food, and then you can catch me up on everything before Tauriel arrives." 

"We have at least a day, probably two…" 

Owen smirked. "It isn't enough time, I agree, but we'll do our best to cram in enough of the good stuff, won't we?" 

Before Thranduil could react, he was picked up and tossed over Owen's shoulder. Thranduil laughed, the sound startled out of him, and he retaliated before Owen could toss him onto the bed. Owen attempted to throw him; Thranduil held onto Owen's body and sent him tumbling with Thranduil. When they settled, they were grinning at each other, tangled up and breathing deeply. 

Thranduil  _ wanted. _

"God, I missed you," Owen whispered. He reached out and brushed his fingers over Thranduil's cheek. "I don't like being away from you anymore." 

"You just have to ask, and I'll go wherever you go," Thranduil whispered back. 

"I'm asking now," Owen said. At Thranduil's arched eyebrow, he smiled. "Stay with me. Move in the rest of your belongings. No matter what we find out about who was looking for you." 

"It's hardly a secret lair if—" 

"Get a post office box for your mail, put any furniture you want to save in storage, and move in with me," Owen interrupted. 

It wasn't poetic, but it was honest. Thranduil smiled and nodded. 

Owen flashed him another grin before he leaned in for a kiss. Calm gave way to frenzy quickly, both of them tugging at Thranduil's clothes and Owen's towel and until they were both naked and pressed together. Thranduil flipped them, settling down on top of Owen; he kissed Owen and nipped at Owen's lower lip when he lifted his head. 

"Thran, I had plans to take this slow, but—" 

"Screw slow," Thranduil interrupted. He laughed. "No, we will screw fast." 

"Have at it, then, love," Owen said as he relaxed back into the pillows. "I am at your disposal." 

With a flip of his hair, sending it cascading down his back, Thranduil grinned and rocked his hips. Owen responded by arching his body so that his hips pressed up into Thranduil. With a groan, Thranduil fell forward and caught Owen's mouth in another kiss. 

Owen licked his way into Thranduil's mouth as his hands skimmed up his sides; as Owen bit into Thranduil's lower lip, his hands moved up to cup the elf's head. Thranduil whimpered as he felt Owen brush his fingers over the points of his ears; he felt his pulse skip a beat with every move those fingers made and his plans to torture Owen a little first were lost to the swell of arousal building inside of him. 

They moved together, familiar with their bodies and desires, but the familiarity didn't ruin the moment; it enhanced the moment, helping their passions along until rational thought was shattering between them. Thranduil heard himself making quiet (and then loud) mewling noises to respond to Owen's growling groans. He would have blushed but the vibrations from Owen's vocalisations only spurred on the rocking of his hips and made it easy to forget how much his reserved sense of self was unwinding (yet again). 

When Owen's hand  _ finally  _ wrapped around their erections, once clothes and towels had been tossed aside, Thranduil moaned and ducked his face into the warm body underneath him. 

"Like that?" Owen asked. 

Thranduil nodded. He reached up and gripped his hands into the pillows behind Owen's head. Distantly, he heard Owen chuckling but he paid it little mind as that grip tightened and shifted. He wanted to take back control but the slow stroking was  _ just right _ and any demands he wanted to make dissolved. Managing to rise a little, Thranduil rocked his body to the rhythm Owen was orchestrating; Owen followed along and met each thrust of Thranduil's hips with one of his own. 

When Thranduil cried out, orgasm threatening to burst from him, Owen pulled him down with his free hand and offered him a series of messy kisses that smothered any further noises. Thranduil trembled against him until he climaxed and then he helped stroke Owen through his own release. 

"Are you mine again?" Thranduil asked, smiling into the crook of Owen's neck. 

"I'm always yours, love, I thought we covered that earlier," Owen said as his hand came up and rubbed the back of Thranduil's neck. 

"Mmm, just checking," Thranduil whispered. He shifted his weight and slid to Owen's side; Owen sighed and adjusted his hold on Thranduil's body. "Lie here with me," he added. "We'll do the rest on our list later." 

"Yes, my lord." 

Thranduil snorted. "Shush." 

Owen chuckled and resumed rubbing his hand over Thranduil's neck. Thranduil, in turn, closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of Owen's body pressed against his. 


	3. Chapter 3

When Thranduil woke a second time, the sights of The Last Homely House East of the Sea were far from his mind. He yawned and snuggled into his pillows. When his pillow hugged him back, he smiled. 

"Good nap?" Owen asked. 

"You tired me out, so soon after my earlier nap," Thranduil mumbled. "And you're warm. I was hopeless to resist." 

Owen's laugh roused him further. "I think the travelling's gotten to you." 

"You are wrong." 

"Yeah?" Owen asked. He chuckled into the top of Thranduil's head. "Any interesting dreams?" 

"No, thankfully." Thranduil stifled another yawn with the back of his hand before rolling onto his back; he immediately missed the feeling of Owen's body under his but he knew they had things to do that afternoon. It was time to wake up and face the music. "Elrond appears to have been a one-time visitor to my sleep," he added. 

"Tell me about him," Owen said as he turned his head towards Thranduil. "Was he a good friend?" 

"We were better friends when we were younger," Thranduil said. "We grew apart when we married. And when my wife died and his wife left, we… we tried to reconnect, but our grief made it difficult. Our children remained close—or as close as they could with the distance between them." 

"Where did he grow up? The Greenwood? Or… one of those other places you mentioned? Mithlond or Imladris?" 

Shaking his head, Thranduil replied, "No, but he came to a region we called Lindon. I was there with my father, recovering from… well, it took a while before we moved to the Greenwood. But, Imladris came to be Elrond's home after some time, and he turned it into a great place. A welcoming home for anyone travelling or lost." 

"Sounds nice." 

Thranduil shrugged. "My son was there more than I ever was… and according to Vegh, my daughter spent some of her winters there, too." 

"Did Elrond ever tell you about Bellasiel visiting?" 

"No," Thranduil said. "But the damage was done to our relationship long before that." 

"How are you so young with two grown children?" Owen asked. 

Thranduil snorted at Owen's use of the word 'young,' even as his insides wriggled uncomfortably at the truth he was about to try to dodge. He turned onto his side and looked into Owen's eyes; he hoped the eye contact would help sell the words he was about to say. 

"I'm older than you, by a few years," Thranduil said. "I just age incredibly well. Good genes." 

Owen smirked. "Yeah? Are you fifty?" 

Thranduil grinned. "No." 

"Sixty?" 

"Not even close," Thranduil replied, glad he could say something truthful even though he knew Owen would misinterpret his response. "Try again." 

"Five thousand." 

Thranduil laughed to hide his surprise at Owen's guess. "Still wrong," he murmured. 

Laughing with him, Owen reached out and rubbed his hip. "So… late forties? I can believe that." 

"I became a father when I was very young," Thranduil said, leaning into the movement of Owen's hand. "My father wanted me to have an heir as soon as possible." 

Owen's frown soothed some of the hurts that lingered in those memories. "The picture of him you've been putting in my head makes him seem… difficult." 

Thranduil smirked. "That's putting it mildly," he said. "He was strong-willed and very firm in his convictions. And he wanted me married with children, to keep our new kingdom, of sorts, in our family's control." 

"Arranged marriage?" Owen asked, the frown turning into a concerned expression that softened the way he was looking at Thranduil. 

"It might have become one, if she didn't save me from that choice," Thranduil admitted. "Meldiriel was a childhood friend. Well-connected. She knew my father wanted me to marry. She… suggested that we come forward as a couple before he could parade me in front of the eligible females in our society." 

"Thran…" 

Thranduil smiled. "We were happy, in our own way. It was not a love match, but we loved each other. She could get me to smile, and she was a wonderful mother to our children." 

"Her name was Meldiriel?" 

Nodding, Thranduil inched closer. "Yes, it was. She was almost as tall as me and had long blonde hair, too," he murmured. "She loved going on adventures. And she had the ability to make me smile after some truly awful days." 

"I'm glad you had her in your corner," Owen murmured. 

"Me, too," Thranduil whispered. He brushed his nose against Owen's a couple of times before he stole a quick kiss. "But I have you in my corner now, yes?" 

Owen smiled and leaned in for another kiss. Assuming that was his answer, Thranduil opened up to him at the first touch of Owen's tongue to his lips. He reached out and slid his hands over Owen's chest as he wriggled closer; Owen responded by wrapping his free arm around Thranduil's back. 

"So that's a 'yes?'" Thranduil teased. 

"That's an 'always,'  _ meleth nín," _ Owen whispered back, before he kissed Thranduil's forehead. 

At the sound of those words, the very words Bard said to him every chance he'd had, Thranduil lifted his head and stared down at Owen. His heart pounded and tightened in his chest. He did not understand and he had no words to explain the reason behind his behavior. He'd thought he'd been careful, keeping most of his language from Owen's ears; those words, especially, had been well-guarded, and only slipped out in dreams or when he was sure Owen was asleep. As his mind whirred, he noticed Owen blinking up at him, seemingly confused by Thranduil's show of surprise. 

"Did I say it wrong?" 

Thranduil shook his head. "No," he whispered, once he was able to breathe past the lump in his throat. "No, you said it right. You… how…" 

"You've started calling me that when you think I'm asleep," Owen said as he pulled Thranduil closer. In his stunned state, Thranduil didn't resist. "It's important, isn't it? Why don't you say it when I'm awake?" 

Floundering for something to say, Thranduil looked into Owen's curious eyes. Owen brushed his fingers over Thranduil's shoulder; he waited patiently, teasing Thranduil's skin, and he remained silent. 

"I… it is important," Thranduil said after a long pause. "It is… 'my love,' in the language we once spoke." 

With a smile, Owen said, "Well, that's me. And to me, it's you. Is it alright if I call you that?" 

Thranduil nodded, though he didn't say anything. Touching his fingers to Owen's face, he realised that he could give Owen that concession, that part of his heart he'd been hiding. It would hurt, but it would be a good hurt; it reminded him of the joy he felt with Bard, of the magic that kept bringing Bard to him in different ways, and it would now be associated with the love and life he shared with Owen. He knew, when Owen died, that the words would cause new pain, but it felt right to let the firm hold on those words' secret loosen. And with that realisation, he smiled. 

"As long as I can call you that, too," he murmured. "When you're not sleeping, I mean." 

Owen grinned up at him. "Deal," he said as he sat up, pulling Thranduil with him. When the elf complained, Owen chuckled and continued pulling him into a sitting position. "Let's get to work. You probably want to continue getting settled, and I definitely want to check the available camera feeds near your apartment." 

"They were shut off," Thranduil reminded him. 

"I'll search surrounding areas, then. You want to stay for this?" 

Thranduil nodded. Owen kissed his forehead before rising to a standing position. He took Thranduil's hand in his and tugged. 

"Let's get started then, love," he said, dragging the elf off the bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:   
> Meleth Nín = My love


	4. Chapter 4

"Fucking hell!" 

Thranduil looked up and turned towards the sound of Owen's frustrated voice. He sighed, abandoning his unpacking before he could get to the few books containing hidden compartments of memories and trinkets from his past lives, and rose to join Owen at his computer. He wasn't sure what he wanted to learn, what he wanted to hear that Owen had uncovered. 

After Vegh came to town, Owen had tasked her with obtaining security footage from surrounding areas; she'd sent it to him and promised to remain in the area, hidden and nearby, in case they needed anything else. The only other job Vegh had taken during that time was to help Thranduil load the rest of his (Thranduil's, not Kendall's) possessions into suitcases and trunks. While Thranduil unpacked the items he'd hastily packed under Vegh's watchful eye, Owen focused on scanning video of the neighbourhood at the time of Thranduil's surprise caller on his computer monitor. It had been relatively peaceful, though fraught with anticipation. 

Owen's exclamation suggested he'd either found something or he hadn't, but Thranduil wasn't sure which was the better option. 

He slipped through the bedroom area and found Owen in the space that often became his planning space. He was nursing a bottle of lager and glowering at his computer. He might have been angry, but Thranduil thought there was something worth treasuring and admiring in the way Owen's displeasure was directed at a piece of technology that couldn't emote. Thranduil did his best to keep his amusement to himself as he moved closer to Owen, stopping only when he was within reach. He squeezed one of Owen's shoulders with one hand as he stole the bottle from Owen's grip with the other. 

"What's wrong?" Thranduil asked after a sip. "You don't usually yell at your computer." 

Owen swiped back his drink and pulled Thranduil into his lap. "I've got some shots of an SUV in your neighbourhood. No plates. Armoured, but not strictly military." 

"Who's driving?" 

"Can't tell," he said. "When they stop at your flat, the cameras in the surrounding area are knocked out." 

Thranduil frowned. "They've found where I live, then," he mumbled. 

"They  _ may have _ found where you  _ used to live," _ Owen insisted. "I'll make some calls. Interpol might not know if you're on anyone's radar, but they'll know if someone from Hobbs' neck of the woods is operating nearby." 

Without insisting that Thranduil move, Owen picked up his phone and placed a call. He spoke in what sounded like German to Thranduil's ears, before ending that call and placing another. He spoke to someone in Spanish and someone in Italian before switching to English and addressing someone named Penning. 

"You haven't been keeping me informed," Owen said, his voice cooling off when they'd finished with greetings. "Want to tell me what's going on over here, or do I have to follow through on my end of our arrangement?" 

Thranduil could hear the man on the other end of the call floundering, sounding a little more desperate with every uttered sentence. He wondered what Owen had on that man to make him sound so nervous; he wondered why it didn't bother him so much that Owen used blackmail to achieve some of his goals. He frowned and turned his thoughts to Penning's words. 

_ "I work for the FBI not Homeland Security or the CIA, and I already gave you the intel on Braga," _ Penning said, some of his nervousness bleeding away so his frustration could shine through in his voice.  _ "I don't know what's happening on your side of the ocean." _

"Find out," Owen snapped. "Talk to your ex. Talk to your former partner. Talk to someone and get back to me." 

He ended the call and tossed the device down onto his desk. "Bloody feebs," he muttered. "We'll get an answer soon." 

"For now, I lay low, then?" Thranduil asked. 

"Sadly, yes," Owen replied. "But, I'll meet Tauriel and bring her here, when she reaches town, so you'll still get your visit." 

"Good. There is quite a bit I have to discuss with her." 

After a light squeeze to Thranduil's hip, Owen asked, "Does she know about Bellasiel?" 

Thranduil shook his head. "No," he replied, "and that is something I need to rectify." He leaned back into Owen's body. "She came to be in my care after Bellasiel left, and I don't know if she ever knew. I could not talk to her about it. I could not talk to my son about her, so Tauriel—" 

"I get it," Owen whispered. 

He hugged Thranduil and held him close, but he didn't say anything else. Closing his eyes, Thranduil turned so he could tuck his face into Owen's neck and shoulder. They remained like that until Owen's phone beeped, a shrill sound in comparison to the comfort in the moment they were sharing. 

"Shaw." 

Thranduil opened his eyes in time to see Owen smirk. 

_ "It's the DSS. One of their elite teams is snooping around overseas," _ Penning said. 

"So resourceful," Owen purred, his voice demonstrating pleasure in a way that his tense body language was not. "Who do we have to thank for that information?" 

_ "My daughter." _

"Ah, Mum's new boyfriend is out of town, hmm?" Owen said, chuckling. 

_ "You know that her mother runs logistics and tech for them," _ Penning said.  _ "She's out of town. Lissa saw the plane ticket. Should've landed at Heathrow three days ago." _

"Good girl," Owen commented. "She might have a career with the spooks." 

He ended the call immediately after Penning cursed. After another brief chuckle, Owen dialed another number. Thranduil listened to him talking to another source, but the conversation wasn't as interesting; Owen was planning a false trail, and the source was going to provide credible intelligence that Owen was out of the country. Deciding to go back to his unpacking, Thranduil kissed Owen's forehead and slipped off of his lap. 

He went back to his suitcase. Any clothes were in Owen's closet or else the garments remained in the two trunks Vegh produced for the task of moving, tucked in a corner of the bedroom space, but his possessions from previous lives could not be placed so publicly. He looked around the immediate area and saw a few places he could temporarily hide them; however, upon inspecting each place, Thranduil found that they weren't quite as secure as he'd like. 

"Put that stuff in my safe," Owen suggested. He'd finished his call and was looking over the top of his computer monitor at Thranduil. "I won't peek." 

"In the garage?" 

Owen shook his head and gestured to a wall of what seemed to be grey, white, and black brick. "Push the one that looks like a dalmatian," he instructed. 

Thranduil walked to the wall. After looking at the bricks, he saw the one to which Owen was referring. He pushed on it with the fingers of one hand; it gave under the slight pressure and something behind it clicked. As Thranduil pulled back his hand, a portion of the wall swung forward to reveal another safe. 

"I don't keep anything in it right now except for some paperwork—ownership documents, some blackmail, and one server—and I rarely open it," Owen said. "The passcode is 'angel fifty-two bee double-you capital jay pound.'"

"Owen…" 

"I trust you," he said. "Even if you told me your plot was to seduce me to gain access to it, I wouldn't believe you." 

Thranduil snorted. "All right, all right, I'll use it," he said as he typed in the passcode. The door opened. Before he opened it, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Thank you." 

"No thanks required, love," Owen replied, smiling at him before he returned to surveying the information in front of him. 

They worked in relative silence. Occasionally, one of them would hum a tune or shuffle papers or larger items, but it was as if a contented peace fell over them. 

Thranduil placed some of his possessions into the shallow (but still large) safe. He wanted to go get the secure boxes in his car, but he decided to wait to do that since they were the most important items and he wasn't sure he wanted to leave them in Owen's safe. He was uneasy about leaving his other items in Owen's safe, to be honest; however, he did believe Owen when he said he wouldn't snoop through his possessions. It was more the act of putting his belongings and proof of his long existence into someone else's care; he didn't like leaving items in safe deposit boxes, either. 

When he finished, he closed the safe and the wall and headed back to Owen's side. 

"Any progress?" he asked. 

Owen shook his head. "I can't see any rhyme or reason to their actions," he said. "Why would the Diplomatic Service be after you? It makes no sense." 

"Are they after you?" Thranduil asked. 

He snorted. "Probably." After a pause, Owen sighed and ran a hand over his head. "I know Petty has his fingers in lots of pies. I know Hobbs is loyal to him. They'd like to end Deckard and catch me. And, apparently, they are after you. But, aside from that, there is little that we know. Unless Adolfson and Oakes find anything actionable in the Ukraine, we will have little intel." 

After putting his hand on Owen's shoulder, Thranduil said, "I am patient. I can wait." 

"It shouldn't be too much longer," Owen reminded him. "They're there now." 

"Ah, yes," Thranduil murmured. "I'd forgotten." 

"If we do find where your kin are being held, though, we will need a big distraction to stage a rescue," Owen said, thinking out loud as he leaned back in his chair. "We have no way of knowing what state they'll be in, and it might be difficu—"

"Then, we plan and we wait," Thranduil advised. "Owen Shaw does not fail. Nor do I, when I can avoid it." 

Owen snorted and took Thranduil's hand from his shoulder to kiss its knuckles. 

"I don't want to fail you," Owen admitted. 

Thranduil sighed and sat down on the chair next to him. "Owen, the only way you could fail me… well, is dying prematurely," he said, smiling a little. In response, Owen snorted again. He squeezed Owen's hand. "Perhaps, it would help you to think of this as screwing Hobbs and the DSS. Instead of a rescue mission." 

"I do love screwing with the DSS," Owen said. 

With a smirk on his face, Thranduil leaned into Owen's side. "See? Less pressure already." 

"If I lose you because I fail—"

"You won't," Thranduil promised. 

Even though he did not want to think about what would happen to the elves if he and Owen could not put together a plan to free any who remained captive, Thranduil found that surety had built up in his heart on that subject. He meant every word. No matter what happened, he could never leave Owen's side.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I might have gone too far, extrapolating a relationship that never existed... but, I liked the idea, so I ran with it.)

"So, are we going to talk about whatever is on your mind?" 

Thranduil looked up from his glass of wine. On the other side of the sofa, Tauriel held her own glass but kept her focus on him. From the moment Vegh guided her to the warehouse, two days later than they'd predicted she might arrive, Thranduil's nerves had begun to vibrate; he knew he had to tell her, but he also knew that the experience would be terrible for both of them. He'd put it off through lunch and casual conversation; when Owen went to the garage to check out Tauriel's car and do some basic maintenance on it, though, Thranduil knew it was the best time to talk and his nervousness continued to build inside of him. 

"What do you—"

"Oh, please," Tauriel interjected, rolling her eyes as she spoke. "You look like you're about to be sick. I've never seen you look like this before. Something big is on your mind." 

Thranduil scowled. "It is annoying that you have no trouble speaking your mind in my presence," he commented. She chuckled. Then, Thranduil sighed and said, "It is true, though. I do have something to tell you." 

He stood up, carrying his glass with him. When she moved to follow him, he told her to stay there; he went to the table covered in his and Owen's work and fished out the photos from Deckard's attack on Thranduil's character. The blonde hair of who Vegh suspected was Bellasiel seemed to gleam, accusingly, up at him. He sighed and ran his gaze along its swaying lines before turning back to Tauriel and rejoining her. 

"Who is this?" Tauriel asked. "It looks like you, but slighter. You weren't captured." 

"I am not sure who it is," Thranduil said. "However, Deckard believed it was me. He sent us these pictures in an attempt to fracture my relationship with Owen." 

"What… you have suspicions," she said. "It is not Legolas, both because he is safe and because he is too short to be this person." 

Thranduil nodded. "I agree." 

"So…" 

As the words formed in his mind, Thranduil felt his heart attempt to leap up into his throat. He choked on his breath; he gripped the cushion underneath him. He could not force the words—

And then he remembered that, even though he no longer has a kingdom, he is still a king, and he cleared his throat. 

"I have a daughter," he said. 

Tauriel's eyes widened. 

Thranduil gave himself a slight shake and continued to explain. "What I mean to say is, before you came to us, my daughter lived in the palace," he said. "She… she and I had words after her mother died. Things were said in the heat of the moment that could not be taken back. I was not wise enough to see the error in my way until after she'd left." 

"And you think…" 

"I thought she sailed. However, when we showed the pictures to Velossfaeniel, she admitted that Bellasiel did not sail," he said. "She'd travelled with men and elves, living in forests. I do not know if she faded or eventually sailed or remained here with us." 

"Well. That explains… a lot. Thank you for telling me." 

Thranduil blinked at Tauriel's calm response. 

"You are not angry?"

Shaking her head, she smiled. "I was, when I heard about her from some of the guard—not Velossfaeniel," she replied. "I'd hoped you'd tell me in your own time. When you did not, I feared you did not trust me with your family. I feared you'd send me away, too, if I displeased you. Over time, though, I learned that you feel deeply, despite the front you present, and my anger and fear faded." 

"Tauriel…" 

She reached out and touched his forearm. "Thranduil, your heart is full of grief. You've lived in this world longer than any other elf I've known. I know the heaviness of grief. I know how it makes one act differently to their heart's demands. I can't imagine the pain you've accumulated over the centuries," she said. 

"So wise." 

"I do not fault you for being incapable of reopening that wound before you were ready," she added, making sure to meet his gaze through speaking every word. "And I am honoured that you choose to trust me now." 

Thranduil wasn't sure if he would weep or laugh. His heart's demands, as Tauriel put it, were torn in several different directions. He remained still and stared at Tauriel, who sipped her wine and remained close to him. 

"I always wondered why you were so good with me," she said. "You didn't raise me as a boy. You treated me equally, of course, aside from not being of royal blood, but nothing  _ female _ put you off. Even my archery, you taught me in a way to work around my body, with my stance and posture." 

Her comment surprised Thranduil. He'd been about to sip his own wine, but her words stopped him when they registered. 

"Of course I did. Bellasiel and her mother were excellent archers. I saw no reason you could not achieve that skill," he said. 

"Thank you."

Thranduil snorted. "I was so worried you would be furious with me," he said. "I should expect, by now, after thousands of years, that you will never act the way I assume you will." 

In response, Tauriel grinned.


	6. Chapter 6

"We shouldn't be doing this without Owen," Tauriel muttered as she looked up at the building where Thranduil's apartment was located. She shifted the car into park and turned to look at him. "He will be furious if anything hap—" 

"Caution? From you?" Thranduil asked, only a hint of teasing in his voice. "It will be fine. I forgot to pull the  _ mithril _ and gems from the floorboards." He unbuckled his seatbelt. "Wait here or circle around. I'll be twenty minutes at the most."

"This isn't what I had in mind when you said we'd go run a few errands," she said, glaring at the other elf. 

"I cannot leave these treasures unattended." 

She nodded. "I know… I just—" 

"We'll be back before Owen returns from meeting with his team," Thranduil assured her. "Twenty minutes, alright?" 

"Yes, twenty minutes," she agreed. "Thranduil? Please be careful. I won't drive far, so call if you need me." 

After a roll of his eyes, more to reassure her than to make light of the situation, Thranduil climbed out of the car and strode for the building's main doors. He climbed the stairs quickly, eager to grab his prized possessions and leave the apartment behind, but his caution made him hesitate when he was at the door. With his key in his hand, he crouched down and examined the place where he'd wedged a toothpick between the door and it's frame; the small sliver of wood was still there, in exactly the same way he'd left it. His apartment had not been touched. Breathing a sigh of relief, he straightened and unlocked his door. 

He rushed straight for the sofa. Once kneeling on the floor next to it, he pushed the coffee table out of his way and rolled up the end of the rug. After sliding two small strips of wood to one side, he found the latch and pulled it. The floor plank shifted to reveal a dust-covered velvet bag. 

Thranduil sighed. He felt his heart pound in his chest. 

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten the last pieces of his first life and of Bard's first life—but he also understood why he'd passed over them, because he never looked at them except when he moved. One lifetime, he tried keeping them in his secret home; however, after three months, he'd had to go back for them. He couldn't look at them but he couldn't have them too far away, either. They were his strength as much as they were his weakness. 

To ensure the treasures were still intact, he loosened the drawstring and peeked inside. Circlets and crowns and the small gems they'd given each other looked back up at him. Thranduil breathed deeply and snatched the string tight again. 

They were safe and whole. 

He secured and hid the secret compartment much more slowly. As he rose, he looked around the space. It wasn't empty; a lot of objects from his mundane life remained. He'd taken the paperwork from his archery career when Vegh escorted him to gather the rest of his valuables, but he left modern books, tableware, cookware, bedding, bathroom textiles, and so on. She swore she'd remove all trace of him if she were able, in the case of an emergent situation; Thranduil was fine with losing Kendall Monroe's possessions so long as he did not lose Thranduil's (and Bard's) belongings. 

Despite his lack of attachment to those things, he still took a moment to brush his fingers over the spines of books on a nearby shelf. He moved slowly, keeping the velvet sack cradled close to his chest, as he recalled memories. They weren't necessarily happy memories, but they were peaceful. He'd spent a lot of time in that flat, reading (and savouring wine), and he would miss that peace. 

He wouldn't leave Owen's side, though. He adhered to the laws of men, where and when he could, but he felt no obligation to do so—particularly when his identity was at risk. He'd never planned on choosing criminality as a lifestyle; he'd never planned on Owen, either. All of Bard's reincarnations were wonderful, in their own way. Owen was particularly wonderful because he made Thranduil feel  _ alive _ again. Even if he didn't occasionally dream of their past life together, Thranduil would treasure him. Becoming an actual criminal was not ideal, but losing Owen because Thranduil opted not to support and protect him was not an option. 

After catching sight of a book of poetry, Thranduil plucked it from the shelf. He might like to read that again—while curled against Owen, if possible. 

He was in the process of grabbing a few of the other books he wished to keep when he heard a sound coming from the kitchen. It sounded like a glass being placed on the countertop. 

There should be no such noise coming from the kitchen. 

Thranduil frowned and rose to his full height, his hand reaching around to his back for the knife he hid there. 

"No need for that," an unfamiliar, American voice called out from the other room. 

Thranduil removed his knife anyway, not wanting to be unarmed. "Show yourself," he demanded. 

The man from Owen's and Deckard's files sauntered into the doorway, smirking in a way that sent Thranduil's insides roiling. He squashed down the panic he felt at seeing Frank Petty standing in front of him; he made sure one of his best 'bored king' expressions was firmly set into his facial features. He had three goals all vying for attention in his mind—escaping from his apartment, keeping his treasures out of Petty's grasp, and ensuring Tauriel did not catch Petty's attention—but he was not sure how to achieve any of them except for the first. Forcing himself to remain appearing calm, he relaxed his grip on his weapon and took a step towards his guest. He would not be intimidated by a human monster. 

"Where are your men?" Thranduil asked. 

"Nearby. I thought we should have a little chat without anyone listening." 

"About?" Thranduil asked. 

"What one of your kind is doing working for the Shaw brothers," Petty said. 

"I don't work for the abomination," Thranduil said, letting his feelings on the subject of their experiments rise to the surface, through his word choice. 

Mister Nobody's smirk stretched into a grin. "So, you're using his younger brother to get to him, then," he said, nodding as he took a few steps closer. "Makes sense. We could be on the same side in this, you know. I could help you kill him." 

"And what will your assistance cost me? My arm? My leg? My blood?" Thranduil asked. 

"Maybe just some information, if it's good enough." 

As Petty shifted, some of the sunlight streaming into the flat caught on his facial features. Thranduil doubted that a mortal man would have noticed the shadow, but his elf eyes saw more; usually, it was distance and detail, but there was definitely a strange, unnatural shadow lurking in his adversary's eyes. Thranduil could think of no reason for such a darkness, because even the most evil of men showed no such sign when he encountered them through the years. Yet, there was something there. It was faint and difficult to visualise. However, it was there. Thranduil could almost feel it. 

Petty moved out of the light, away from Thranduil, and the shadow faded from his sight. 

Thranduil shrugged and set aside his curiosity. "I don't have any information that good," he said, even though he probably possessed the best information of any of the elves Frank Petty had ever encountered, "and I'd like to keep my body parts intact, so no deal." 

"Keep it in mind, then. I'll be back in the UK for a conference of sorts, and I'll visit you again," the man said. "Or, maybe I'll see you on the road somewhere. World's a funny place." 

"Isn't it, though," Thranduil said. 

"You know, I didn't understand why the Shaws had gone medieval," Petty said. "I saw the photos of those arrows in the house on the Verone property and thought I'd lost my mind." 

Thranduil shrugged again. "That's how you found me?" 

"Well, that's how I found Kendall Monroe, anyway. An alias, because I'm sure you have one of those flowery names like all of the others like you, but yeah, your archer cover wasn't that hard for our computers to run down," Petty told him. "Is this where you stay between jobs?" 

"It used to be," Thranduil replied. 

Mister Nobody chuckled. "Fair enough. Does Owen know about this place? Does Deckard?" 

"Not to my knowledge," Thranduil replied, ensuring his tone remained cool and as detached as possible. "Besides, Shaw isn't exactly the type to socialise with his team after hours." 

"True. Must be slow to gain his trust." 

"It is, but I'm patient," Thranduil lied. 

"We could be allies in this, you know," Petty said, trying to push for some sort of alliance again. "I've been after Deckard Shaw for a few years now, and I can tell you he's slippery." 

"I understand that I'm potentially well-placed to do something about him, and you're eager to see that particular mistake of yours erased from the face of the earth, but there is nothing you could offer me that will convince me our working together will be anything but fatal to me," Thranduil said. 

His unwanted guest smiled and shrugged before he moved towards the foyer of the flat. As he walked, Thranduil felt his fingers tighten around the hilt of his knife. He couldn't believe he wasn't being captured or physically challenged; he was afraid to let down his guard, to relax, and he remained tense and still until Frank Petty was out of his home and heading down a flight of stairs on his way out of the building. 

As soon as he was certain that he was relatively alone, he fled. He went up to the roof, first, and then he climbed down.

The climb down from the roof was a struggle, between his shaky nerves and his possessions strapped to his body, but he was not willing to risk a staircase ambush. He knew, if Petty had brought his men to catch him, he would have a fight for freedom on his hands no matter where they found him, but he still felt like avoiding the stairs and narrow hallways would be his best bet. When he was moving towards the streets and pedestrian traffic, he pulled out his phone and sent Tauriel a text, telling her where to meet him. He would not risk Tauriel falling prey to Mister Nobody and his men. 

Thirty minutes later, she found him outside of the building she'd liked to climb. One look at him and her face went pale. He shook his head and put his possessions in the trunk before joining her and explaining what had happened. 

"We're heading for the continent," Tauriel decided. "But, first, we are going to burn your apartment building to the ground." 

Thranduil glared at her. "We are not!" 

"We are. I have a device in my bag that can mimic an accident—we've tested it, and the investigators determined it was an accident, so we all carry some with us. And we will call Velossfaeniel when we reach one of the safe houses." 

"But—" 

"The leader of all of this mess was in your home!" Tauriel shouted. "Do you think it's safe to remain in the region? What do you think he'll do to Owen if he realises who  _ exactly _ you are?" 

Thranduil frowned. "I can't leave him without… without telling him  _ why." _

"You would risk Owen's safety and our secrets for an explanation?" She asked, more quietly than before. "Kendall Monroe needs to leave no trace. It won't stop Owen from looking for you, but it will put distance between us." She reached out and touched his arm, risking a glance at him as she drove through traffic. "You know I'm right." 

"Just my flat. If they get to it in enough time… perhaps—" 

Tauriel sighed. "How many units are there in the building?" 

"Mine and one other," Thranduil said. "Plus the bar below. The rest haven't been finished yet." 

With a nod, Tauriel turned her focus back to the road. Thranduil took his phone out and stared down at it. He wanted to call Owen, to hear his voice, to tell him they  _ both _ needed to leave… or at least to assure Owen that he would be returning. But, he knew some distance between them and Owen would be best—at least in the beginning. He also knew no distance would stop Owen from searching for him, and he hoped Vegh could talk some sense and caution into Owen once they'd left the region. 

Tauriel drove to two different stores, buying whatever she needed to effectively scorch Kendall Monroe from existence. When they parked two blocks away from Thranduil's home, she grabbed a few empty canvas bags from her trunk and put her purchases into them. 

"We'll use them to carry out anything else you want to keep," she said. "We'll leave your phone's card in there, too, so no one can track your location." 

"If you wish to start doing whatever it is you're planning to do, I will check to see if the other tenant is home," he suggested. "I'll be with you in a moment." 

Tauriel nodded. They entered the building, Thranduil keeping a close eye and ear on their environment for sounds of military agents, and split up at the top of the last staircase. Tauriel went to his apartment, kicking open the locked door to gain entrance, and Thranduil went in the opposite direction to the door at the other end of the hall. He knocked twice, heard nothing, and then decided to try the knob. He could not let Tauriel destroy Kendall Monroe's life without knowing he'd done everything possible to keep innocent bystanders out of danger. 

To his surprise, the door was unlocked. He turned the knob carefully, but when it became clear no one was waiting to ambush him he slipped inside and looked around. 

Thranduil could not believe what he was seeing. 

At the window there was what appeared to be an expensive video camera… 

On a rickety table, there was a lot of computer equipment and what seemed to be some sort of microphone… 

On the walls, there were photographs, news clippings, maps… 

…and he was in most of the photographs! 

Curious, he crept forward, to inspect the walls. Articles about his successful archery students were between photographs of him taken at the shooting range. On one of the maps some of the usual routes he took to and from his favourite haunts were marked, with the exception, thankfully, of Owen's warehouse. A sample of his hair was in an evidence bag. There were photographs of him in Argentina and Spain. Some of Owen's team was on the wall, too, but they were not the focus of the investigation. Vegh, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen.

"What are you—" Tauriel broke off as she entered the other living space, closing the door behind her. "Oh. Well… wow." 

"Check the other rooms, Tauriel." 

She nodded. Continuing to peruse the walls' decorations, he waited until he heard Tauriel's quiet call for him to join her before he went to investigate the other rooms. He found her on her knees by the body of a man. He was lean but well-built. He had a military bearing, though Thranduil could not tell much else about him. 

"Do you recognise him?" Tauriel asked. 

Thranduil shook his head. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of the man's face. "For later," he said. "In case I am able to return." 

Tauriel nodded. "Take your things off the wall. I'm going to take his fingerprints, move him into your flat, and then I'll rig this one, too." 

"Are you sure?" 

She nodded again. "Yes. If anyone sees this, they'll wonder why you're so interesting." 

Thranduil sighed, but the sound was lost as his phone started ringing. He turned the screen so he could see who was calling; it was Owen, and the picture Thranduil had taken of his lover sleeping glowed up at him. 

"Take the call, act normal," Tauriel advised. 

He nodded and answered Owen's summons. "Hello," he said, turning away from the dead body and Tauriel working around it. "How did it go?" 

_ "It went fine until I came home and saw you two had left," _ Owen replied.  _ "Did Tauriel insist on another wine run?"  _

Thranduil forced out a chuckle. "No, we went to my place to grab a few more books. We'll be leaving soon," he said, not sure if he were telling the truth or a lie. 

_ "I'll have to get you another safe if you're going to keep bringing things over," _ Owen teased.  _ "Maybe I should build you a secure storage room." _

"The safe will be perfectly fine for keeping my things protected," Thranduil said. "It's only a few more books. As long as you don't mind keeping them—" 

Owen interrupted quickly.  _ "The safe is fine. I wouldn't have shown you where it was if I didn't want you using it," _ he said.  _ "Just… keep your eyes open and come home safe, alright? I've got some news from Oakes and Adolfson, and you guys should hear it." _

"Sounds great," Thranduil replied. He motioned to Tauriel, indicating that he was going to his apartment, and set off for his soon-to-be-former home. "Can you give me the highlights?" 

_ "Shipka was a good guess, and they found another facility in Russia, too,"  _ Owen said.  _ "There were some documents in a few rooms that looked like labs and some writing on the walls in the cells. They uploaded photos of everything to my server. We can look when you're back."  _

"All right." 

As Thranduil walked into his flat and looked around, the scent of something faintly burning caught his attention. He wrinkled his nose; the smoke, although invisible, seemed to come from everywhere, promising to ruin all of the memories of moments he shared with Owen in the space. 

_ "Thran?"  _

"Tell me something good," Thranduil murmured. "Just… tell me something to make me smile." 

Owen made a quiet noise, something warm and sympathetic, and that alone was enough to fill Thranduil's eyes with tears. But, when Owen started talking, those tears spilled over onto his cheeks. 

_ "Well, my elf king," _ Owen said,  _ "I can't wait to see you. I've spent too long away from you. I know Tauriel's with us, but I'm hoping tonight we can enjoy an hour or two in the tub. I want to wash away the stress of your mystery visitor and of all this mess, and I want to help y—"  _

"I love you," Thranduil said, cutting off the thought Owen was trying to finish when it felt like his heart was about to burst.  _ "Meleth nín, _ you are the light of my life. You were a surprise that changed my life in ways I could never have imagined and I am so grateful and glad you found me and insisted on meeting me." 

After making that soft noise again, Owen asked,  _ "What's wrong?" _

"N-nothing," Thranduil lied. He inhaled deeply and tried to ignore the ache in his chest. "Just… I need you to know that." 

_ "Stay there, I'm coming over—"  _

"No! No," Thranduil said quickly. "There's nothing left to do here. I'll come to you as soon as I can." 

Owen sighed.  _ "Tell me what's going on."  _

"I will tell you everything when I see you," Thranduil promised. 

A shuffling behind him had him turning around. Tauriel had the dead body on a sheet and was dragging it into Thranduil's flat; he didn't need to ask what she was doing because he understood the body could be his alias to buy them some time. He nodded at her and moved away, towards the kitchen, in an attempt to keep Owen from overhearing Tauriel's efforts. 

" _ Thran—" _

_ "Meleth nín… _ don't worry. I will see you as soon as I can," Thranduil murmured. 

_ "Promise?" _

"I promise. And in the meantime, remember what I told you," he replied. 

Owen chuckled.  _ "Yeah, alright. And in the spirit of soppy admissions, I have something to tell you, too,"  _ he said. 

"You do?" 

_ "You are the best thing to have ever happened to me,  _ meleth nín.  _ And I never want to be apart from you. If something happens to force us apart, you remember that I'm pining for you, searching for you, and impatiently waiting for the exact minute we can be together again."  _

As he wiped his teary face, Thranduil smiled. "I will remember," he whispered. "Owen.  _ Always." _

_ "Thranduil…" _

"I better go." 

_ "See you soon." _

"As soon as humanly possible," Thranduil agreed. 

_ "I love you." _

He turned his head when he caught sight of movement in his peripheral vision. Looking at him and pointing at her wrist, Tauriel had a rather impatient or cross expression on her face. 

_ "Gi melin," _ Thranduil said, ignoring both Tauriel and the way his voice wobbled.

He lingered a moment, listening to Owen's deep sigh, but then he ended the call and turned his attention back to the female elf in front of him. 

"Time to go?" 

"Pop out the SIM card," she instructed, handing him a little bit of wire. "I'll put it by the device." 

After doing what she advised, Thranduil put the tiny chip in her hand. 

"I'm ready," he said. 

She nodded and set the flame to something tucked into a matchbook. She grabbed their things and ushered Thranduil to the door. 

"If there's something you need from Owen's place, we should have time to grab it if you can be fast," she said as they hurried to her car. "I suspect he'll be here in fifteen, and by then the authorities should arrive, so he will wait until they finish inspecting the place. He'll want to know what they find." 

"Which will be a charred body," Thranduil mumbled, before he slid into the passenger seat. 

"I know it isn't good," she said. "But, it is for the best if Petty thinks you're dead. Even if it's for an hour or two. We can get out of town before anyone realises you're still alive." 

Thranduil sighed and nodded. 

"So, to the warehouse?" 

He nodded again. "I should grab some clothes. And the  _ athelas. _ And I need to put the bag in the safe," he said. 

"Give me the combination," she said. "We can be quicker if we split up, if you grab my bag by the closet." 

After agreeing to Tauriel's plan (again), Thranduil fell silent. He watched the traffic and sights around them, losing himself in his guilt and grief and not finding any comfort to soothe his pain. 

It was a short drive to Owen's loft and it took even less time for them to grab everything they wanted to take and leave the things Thranduil felt would be best kept in the safe. Thranduil took a few gems and legal documents, as well as all of his passports and pieces of identification; he took some of his weapons, keeping the most sentimental of them in Owen's closet, and he made sure to take a few pieces of clothing. He knew Owen would realise things were missing; he wasn't sure if it was smart but he thought it was best that Owen would be reassured by the evidence that Thranduil was still alive. 

Before he ran back to the elevator to meet Tauriel, he paused by the bed and picked up the pillow Owen used. He buried his face in it and inhaled deeply. Savouring Owen's scent, his skin and the scent of the lotion he preferred to use, Thranduil closed his eyes; he committed the scent to memory and tried to talk himself out of bringing the pillow with him. 

Sentimentality rising, Thranduil grabbed one of Owen's t-shirts, one discarded at the foot of the bed, and tucked it into his bag with everything else. He knew it wouldn't smell like Owen forever, but he wanted whatever small amount of comfort the garment could loan him. 

Tauriel was in the process of concealing the safe when he stepped into the main area of the loft. She smiled a little at him and went to her car before he could say or do anything else. He followed her and, within minutes, they were on the road again. 

"It will be fine," Tauriel said, as she turned onto a road that Thranduil knew would take them to the highway. "Maybe we'll be able to find Bellasiel." 

"It… would be good to see her," he agreed. 

"And we can call Velossfaeniel when we're safely away. She can keep watch over Owen." 

Thranduil nodded. 

"It is for the best." 

He sighed. "I know," he said. "I do not like this, though." 

"I don't like it, either. Owen has proven himself to be an ally in many respects," she said. "But, if Petty got this close to you, he could get close to Owen. Or abduct you to one of the facilities. My lord, the thought of you at his mercy… it is a dark prospect." 

"I do not wish to be abducted," he told her. "I simply wish there were another solution." He sighed again. "Since there is not, we must make the best of this situation." 

"That's the spirit." 

Thranduil turned his head and looked at Tauriel. He managed a small smile, though it did not feel very genuine, and then he turned back to stare out of the passenger side window. The physical proof of leaving his home was hard to watch so he closed his eyes. Images of Owen joined images of Bard in his mind, and he wondered if his relationship with Owen would survive his departure or if he were making the biggest mistake of this lifetime. 

When Tauriel's phone buzzed, Thranduil completely expected to see Owen's name on the screen. A codename,  _ Speedracer, _ and a picture of a motorcycle decorated the screen instead. 

"Who—"

"Shh," Tauriel interrupted, before accepting the call. "Is the task done?" 

_ "No, listen, there's been… there's been an accident,"  _ the female voice, deep and melodic even though it sounded strained. 

"Are you—"

_ "I'm fine. It wasn't me. It's Alassë."  _

At the mention of that particular name, Tauriel pressed down a little bit harder on the accelerator pedal. Thranduil wanted to ask who she was and why she was of importance; he remained silent, hoping Tauriel would explain as soon as she could. 

Without being prompted, Speedracer continued talking. 

_ "She has been working with the feds. Something about clearing charges from her mate's record. The feds have their sights set on Braga—" _

Thranduil's eyes widened. 

_ "—and he is always looking for drivers. I tried to wave her off of it. I know she's Mirima's daughter. I tried to… but she is so stubborn! She won the race and got the job.  _

_ "Thankfully, she realised the drivers were expendable, but she didn't get away unscathed. She's in the hospital. It appears she will make a full recovery. The doctors and nurses think she's miraculous. The feds have declared her as dead, in the hope that her mate will return for the service."  _

"You need to get her out. Her samples. X-rays. Anything," Tauriel insisted. 

_ "If I can, I will. It would be helpful, though, if you could come to us," _ Speedracer said.  _ "I am still working for Braga. He will send someone to kill her and I cannot be discovered as disloyal."  _

Tauriel sighed and said, "Okay, okay. Yes. I will come. I am heading to my resting place in France, but I won't stay long." 

_ "I will try to protect her as long as I can."  _

"Thanks. Take care of yourself," Tauriel said. 

_ "Sílo Anor bo men lín,"  _ Speedracer responded, before ending the call. 

"Explain," Thranduil said. 

"The girl… the half-elven whose name I gave you." 

"I thought her name is Leticia," Thranduil said. 

Tauriel nodded and steered the vehicle onto a road that would take them to the highway, eventually connecting them to a route that would take them to the channel. As soon as traffic lightened, she pressed down on the pedal and accelerated even more. 

"It is. Letty. But, Erulissë—"

"She did not sail?" 

Keeping her eyes focused on the road, Tauriel nodded again. "She stayed. She is one of the main contacts on the west coast of that continent. She likes being close to the ocean, but she does not want to sail," she explained. "Anyway. Together, numerous times, we tried to impress upon Letty that her life was dangerous and that she risked being discovered, but… youth." 

Remembering his battles with Bellasiel, Legolas, and Tauriel, Thranduil snorted. "She cared little or not at all for your centuries of experience and perspective? Imagine my surprise," he drawled. 

Tauriel chuckled. "Yes, yes, I know," she agreed. 

Thranduil turned his focus to the rest of their conversation. "And Erulissë works for Braga. He is… a dangerous employer, from what I understand," he said. He wasn't willing to expose the reach of Owen's network, so he chose his words carefully. "She cannot be seen protecting or sheltering Letty. It is likely that he would have her under sporadic surveillance." 

"I keep forgetting you have waded into the criminal underground," Tauriel said. She glanced at him, a smirk on her face. "Have you met Braga?" 

"I've only met the people Owen hires," Thranduil said. 

She nodded, seemingly accepting that. 

"From where will we fly?" Thranduil asked. 

"Probably France, if we are clear of trouble," she said. "We will stop at a safe house and pack for airport security. I have suitcases. Then, I'll make the arrangements." 

As he contemplated their new plan, Thranduil sighed. He'd expected a bit of a journey, but he'd hoped they'd remain relatively stationary—so that they could reach out to Owen or so that Owen could find him. By moving through a series of countries, though, they would make it even more difficult for Thranduil and Owen to reconnect… 

…if Owen even wanted to reconnect. 

He suspected Owen had understood something of what was happening, from Thranduil's tone and words, based on Owen's own tone and words. Owen hadn't sounded angry with him; there was still hope that they would be able to reconnect. However, Thranduil knew Owen could be stern and strict (moreso with his team than with him, but still), and he feared that mood being turned towards their relationship. 

Still, keeping Owen out of Mister Nobody's clutches was important and staying away from Owen would help Thranduil in that endeavour. 

It had to be done—no matter how much Thranduil hated leaving him behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:   
> Meleth nín = My love  
> Gi melin = I love you  
> Sílo Anor bo men lín = May the sun shine on your road (a farewell)

**Author's Note:**

> There is [another story.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075937) For some reason, the next work link isn't appearing for me. So I'm sticking this here. Just in case.


End file.
